


Damned

by katfett



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Vikings - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, Vikings, celebration prompt, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katfett/pseuds/katfett
Summary: Prompt: "For a monk, it does present certain problems."Unable to find peace with his path, Hvitserk decides an early morning wash to clear his doubts was in order. The water nymph that he accidentally comes upon is temptation itself and the young monk cannot win the internal war raging between the man he was, the man he is and the man he should be.
Relationships: Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169936
Kudos: 3





	Damned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Youbloodymadgenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youbloodymadgenius/gifts).



> Any mistakes, I apologise for. I know I’ve probably missed some. I’ll fix them tomorrow.  
> I’m going to be honest, I really disliked and liked the end of Hvitserk’s story. It made sense in Hirst’s story but it let me do this so yay! I wanted to see Hvitserk venture to Ireland and come into his own. So this is the concept of him shedding that path and following another. I also wrote this in the span of two hours, and did not realise how long I made it... enjoy! Thank @youbloodymadgenius cause without her prompt, this wouldn’t exist.  
> Stand alone.

Travelling north on his pilgrimage was strange. He had been so accustomed to his old life, the life of a heathen, that the friendly greetings and kindness displayed were uncomfortable. It had been some long months since that bloody day; since Ivar’s death.

He still saw him, dreamt of him. He would never be without him. The constant shadow whispering that he shouldn’t have renounced their gods, he should’ve returned to Kattegat and taken it back from Ingrid. Some nights, he could feel the blade against his throat that Ivar’s ghost would hold there, telling him he didn’t belong in monk’s clothes.

Last night, had been such a night. He could sleep on the hard ground without complaint; he’d done it long before taking his vows.

Still, he was weary and exhausted come morning. The pilgrimage had been requested by Alfred. They wished him to venture across England, spreading the word of god, self-reflecting, praying.

There was a deep part of Hvitserk that was grateful to escape the confines of the church; his life before had left him a wanderer, and that part of him felt too confined in one place for months on end.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Hvitserk climbed to his feet. He looked around at the sleeping forms around him. Three monks had come with him, Alfred’s watch, Hvitserk knew, as the young king still did not fully trust him.

The sun had not yet risen and Hvitserk decided he would take the time to wash while the others slept. He grew weary of their eyes following the tattoos adorning him when they shared the river; marks that highlighted just what he had been before this.

Finding the river, Hvitserk stripped off his robes and sunk into the cold water with a sharp breath. It was freezing but it woke him up.

A startled squeal pierced the silence of the early morning and Hvitserk spun, hands instinctively going for a weapon at his hip that was no longer there.

His eyes landed on the woman; back to him and waist deep in the water. Her arms were wrapped about her front, even though she was turned from him, her wide eyes looking at him incredulously.

“What are you doing?!” She all but hissed at him.

Hvitserk glanced down at himself, suddenly aware that he was thigh deep in the water and therefore completely exposed to her. He quickly sunk into deep into the water until it covered his lower half.

“I could ask the same of you woman,” he said. The response wasn’t passive and apologetic for looking at her naked back, as it should’ve been for a monk.

She was watching him warily, he could see the way she glanced towards her clothes on the bank, to where a bow and quiver lay. Her blonde hair hung down her back, clinging to fair skin as they stared at one another.

Then he realised what she was staring at; his tattoos. He muttered a curse under his breath, brother Osgyth would’ve blushed hearing it. The woman thought him a Viking.

“I was bathing. You intruded.” Her voice was firm, as though she were scolding a child.

Hvitserk held his hands up as a sign of surrender, though he refused to take his eyes off her, aware of the weapon on the bank.

“You bathe alone?” Hvitserk asked.

“Yes.”

He waved around to their surroundings. “Are you not worried about being set upon?”

The heavy silence that followed said everything. Laughter broke it and Hvitserk was surprised by how sweet it was. It had been a long time since he had heard the laughter of a woman.

“You have set upon me, Viking.”

He frowned, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he motioned to the robes laying near where he’d walked in. “I am not Viking.”

Her eyes followed his hand, spying the robes she frowned. “A monk?”

She turned to face him then; her arms still covered her breasts but Hvitserk now was able to see her fully.

She was beautiful. He should’ve pushed the thought down; shouldn’t let his gaze trail across slim shoulders, the swell of her breasts that were exposed above her arm, or her flat belly and wide hips, but he did.

He bit out a soft curse feeling the shift in his thoughts. She was beautiful, and alluring. Hvitserk hadn’t lain with a woman in a long time, even before converting. Until now, it hadn’t been much of a problem.

***

Elen stared at the man. He looked more heathen than he did monk. His muscular chest was covered by tattoos, his hair was long and not shaved at the top like she’d seen of monks before and his beard was long. His overall appearance did little to evoke the image of a monk.

The robes could be a ruse. The cross about his neck stolen from a man of god he had slain. Despite the fall of Ivar the Boneless, the Vikings still raided into Mercia and Elen knew what they did to women.

If only she could get to her bow.

He had only nodded in reply to her query about him being a monk. He spoke English well too, for a Viking.

***

Hvitserk was quiet, unmoving as he watched her deep in thought. Her face was pretty, she couldn’t be much younger than him. Did her husband know where she was? Did she have a husband?

Hvitserk felt like pinching himself and from somewhere deep in his mind he heard Ivar laughing darkly at his predicament. What did it matter? He should get out and leave her to bathe. His legs didn’t move.

“Are you going to turn around?”

Hvitserk actually grinned at her; a cheeky, boyish grin. “So you can go for the bow? I don’t think so.”

She didn’t fire a remark back. She had been thinking it, he would be too if he were face to face with himself like this in her place.

She turned her back to him with a stubborn huff and he chuckled quietly. She was quite feisty for an English woman. He hadn’t met many, even now he lived here among them. His days had been spent cloistered, being taught to write. It had been embarrassing at first, but his people hadn’t been ones for writing their histories down like the English did; like Alfred’s chronicle.

The woman uncovered herself once she presented her back to him. She was going to pretend he wasn’t there. Some part of Hvitserk stirred as he watched her dip low and tip her head back to soak her hair. She straightened, squeezing the water from her golden locks. In her movement, he could see the swell of her breasts and had to bite his lip.

He had not really thought of fucking since converting. It just didn’t occupy his thoughts as it once had, but seeing this woman it reawakened in him and he was suddenly hungry for it.

He quickly scooped up two handfuls of water and splashed his face, scrubbing to try and cool his thoughts. He had said vows, he couldn’t be that kind of man anymore.

***

Elen didn’t look at him. The monk, she still had her doubts, was handsome and she blushed at the sinful thought of how it might feel to lay with him. He was a man of god, even though he looked heathen, he had not moved to invade her space.

“I am Aethelstan, lady.”

His voice was deep, smooth and calm. He called her lady? She almost laughed at the idea of appearing at all ladylike as naked and wet as she was.

“Elen, monk.” She heard the sloshing of water. Glancing over her shoulder, Elen found him sitting in the water, chest deep, his gaze far off. She wondered who he was. Monks didn’t usually look like heathens. Who had he been in his previous life? Had the church forced him into converting?

Sinking down so her chest was covered, Elen turned to look at him. She could go for her bow while he was like this, he might catch her but he surely didn’t have reflexes as quick as hers.

Something stopped her though as she heard him sigh, pressing his fingers into his eyes for a moment. “How do people live like this?”

Was the question for her? Was it about his predicament? She tipped her head curiously, treading a few cautious steps closer. He glanced at her and Elen realised he looked exhausted. “Live like what, Aethelstan?”

He seemed to cringe as she spoke the name. It likely wasn’t his birth name, perhaps he was still fresh to the church and getting use to having to answer to a new name.

“So confined by rules,” he muttered, hitting at the water as he drew a knee up and rested an arm on it.

Fascinated, Elen dared to move just a little closer. “Can you turn?”

He glanced across at her and she was struck by the confused, weary look in his eyes. His gaze dragged over her for a moment. “You won’t go for the bow?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “So long as you don’t try anything.”

He shifted in the water, presenting her his back. She moved so she could sit with her back to him, but the scars stopped her. Up close they were visible; old and new scars. So he had fought in his previous life. He was definitely a Viking, but how had he become a monk? She almost reached out to touch the raised, white lines on his back but stopped herself.

Instead, Elen shifted and leaned her back against his. She felt him tense as their skin came into contact; his back was warm and hard.

***

She was so close. Her back leaned into his and he tensed, unable to control the reaction. She didn’t move, letting him adjust to having her there. She was warm against him and he smiled to himself, dropping his gaze to the side to glance at where her arm was drawing lazy circles across the water.

This was peaceful, calming. He reached for the cross around his neck. It felt heavy as he weighed his thoughts.

“Who were you?”

Her soft question pierced the comforting silence and he sighed, dropping the cross back down. He didn’t respond straight away and it earned him a nudge.

With a raised brow, he glanced at her over his shoulder. She smiled sweetly at him and Hvitserk was captured by it. She was beautiful up close; delicate features on a face shaped by Freya... he stopped.

No, not Freya. Freya hadn’t made this woman. Her god, his new god had.

“A Viking.”

She rolled her eyes and he smiled. He didn’t miss the way her cheeks suddenly flushed as she watched him. “That is a given. Did you convert willingly?”

He nodded. “Yes.” She remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she sighed, leaning her whole back against his and dropping her head against his shoulder. His breath fanned her cheek as he watched her. Her eyes were closed, waiting. “I did, but adjusting, reshaping everything I knew to be a monk, is far harder than I expected.”

“Did you leave family behind? Do you regret the choice?”

She was curious he realised. He reached up, letting his fingers brush across the hair sticking to her temple, pushing it back gently, letting his fingers card through the long tresses hanging by his shoulder. He felt the shiver go through her.

“I don’t know if any survived. My father, my mother, three of my brothers are dead,” he said, Ragnar, Aslaug, Sigurd, Bjorn, Ivar - all dead. Ubbe’s face came to him then. Had his brother survived his journey? Were two sons of Ragnar still walking the earth? He hummed a little at the thought of his older brother. Would he be proud of him? Would he laugh as Ivar did in his dreams? “There are times I do regret it.”

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes fluttered open and their gazes met. “When do you find yourself regretting it?”

He wanted to chuckle. Was she an Angel coming to question his faith? His commitment? Was she a sign from old gods wanting him back? It was hard to tell.

“When I think of my father, when I picture the disdain my mother would have seeing me as I am, when I picture my brother and his disdain for Christains,” he said and then smiled, continuing, “when I find myself in front of a beautiful, naked woman and shame and guilt collide with want and desire.”

Her cheeks flushed and she let out a breathy chuckle, pulling her head from his shoulder. He was being bold, the old Hvitserk was bold, Aethelstan wasn’t meant to be. “And, what would you do if you found yourself in front of a such a woman before you converted?”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at her boldness. She didn’t seem innocent but he knew women could be many things. “Are you asking so you can imagine it on a cold, lonely night, Elen?”

“I’m curious is all.”

She deflected well.

“Ah,” he hummed, not believing her for a second, and then he turned just a little, his fingers reaching out to trail across what was exposed of her upper arm. Her body shuddered against his and he grinned, letting his fingers slid along her shoulder and then down her back. “I would fuck her until she cried out my name like a prayer to her god.”

Her soft whimper was barely audible as he swept her hair up into his hand, drawing it across her opposite shoulder as his hand came around the back of her neck, his thumb finding her pulse. It was racing frantically under his thumb. He squeezed gently. “Though then I would have broken my vows.”

His fingers almost slipped away but she reached over her shoulder, stopping them. He remained where he was. “ **For a monk, it does present certain problems**.”

Hvitserk chuckled, nodding at her. “It does indeed, and so Elen, I find myself at an impasse.”

She turned to him, his hand remained on her, following her. They stared at one another. She licked her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. It was soft and full, perfect for kissing. He wanted her. Damn him to his new God’s hell for it, but he wanted her and he wanted to give in to that want. “Do they not preach God will forgive those who repent?”

He smiled at her.

“They do,” he whispered, leaning down slowly to her mouth. “What if I have a taste and do not want to repent after?”

Her breath fanned over him as she chuckled softly. “Then that would be between you and God, Aethelstan.”

“It’s Hvitserk,” he said before capturing her mouth in a kiss. She turned fully to face him, her hands sliding around his neck as he pulled her in to him. She tasted sweet and he was drowning, lost in the feel of her fingers burying into his hair as she kissed him back with a surprising fervour.

Hvitserk knew he shouldn’t, knew that even if God would forgive him, he had failed a test so easily succumbing to the nymph with him. How could he ever hope to maintain his vows if he let himself fall now?

Her body pressed into his and he groaned at the feel of full, heavy breasts against his chest. She was made for fucking, what man in their right mind would refuse a willing roll with a woman like her. Hvitserk’s thoughts crumbled away as they came to their knees in the water, their bodies flush against the other. She moaned softly into his mouth as his tongue swept across her lower lip.

In an awkward tangle, they managed to stand, Hvitserk’s hands found her hips to guide her backwards to the bank, never letting up from their kiss. She clung to him, her small frame moulding to him in a way that was just right.

He broke away as they came down to his robes, her back hitting the cloth as he settled between her thighs. Her legs clung to his waist and he stared down at her. She was watching him with hooded eyes. He hadn’t been with a woman in so long. Cupping her cheek, he leaned in and kissed her.

“Are you innocent?” he asked against her.

She didn’t answer at first. Then slowly she nodded against him. He grinned against her. “You’d let a heathen turned priest take your innocence?”

Her cheeks were bright red and she bit her lip as she stared up at him. “I’m letting Hvitserk.”

He ground his cock against her belly as she said his name. His real name. He pulled back from their kiss and reached between them. His thumb found that nub between her legs and glided over it, she whimpered, her legs tightening around his body. He buried his head into her throat; nipping and sucking at the fair, damp flesh as he touched her.

She rode his fingers as he slipped two into her, needing her ready for him. Her body arched from the ground as his lips found her nipples. His teeth closed over one as her nails dug into his back. He grunted; rocking against her. He swallowed her cry as she came, all too aware of how close his fellow monks were. Though they tended to sleep like they were in the safety of their beds, even whilst on the road, he didn’t want to risk them hearing.

She trembled against him. Hvitserk grinned at the soft sigh that escaped her as she relaxed into the cloth at her back. Coating his fingers in her slickness, Hvitserk took hold of his hard cock and stroked himself. She glanced down between them, watching what he was doing. Elen was breathtaking beneath him. A water nymph who had seduced him with her sharp tongue. He grunted as he felt his belly tense. Her fingers glided along his sides as he positioned himself. He looked at her, the question hanging between them.

“Hvitserk.” His name was a breathy whisper from her swollen lips and he grinned down at her, sliding in a little. She tensed at first and he pulled back, repeating his movement, letting himself sink further into her each time. She didn’t cry out in pain, though she did wince when he finally settled fully into her.

Hvitserk moaned into her throat, dropping down on her, one arm curling around her head to find her hair as he leaned on his forearm, taking some weight off her. She felt so good around him. He allowed her to relax into it. Her fingers found his free hand and entwined with his, giving them a squeeze.

Hvitserk rocked against her and she groaned softly. He kissed her throat as he rode her. She was enjoying it, her fingers squeezing his as she arched her hips up to meet his own. Hvitserk didn’t last long, he knew he wouldn’t. When her walls clamped down on him, Hvitserk had grunted out a curse and rode her hard to chase his end.

She whimpered beneath him, her nails leaving imprints on his back.

He collapsed atop her, his sweaty body sticking to hers as they dried from their time in the river. He leaned back enough that he could kiss her gently, his fingers massaging her scalp and coming to her throat. “I am damned, woman.”

She giggled beneath him, moaning softly as he rocked himself against her. “We both are, Hvitserk.”

He snuggled into the woman beneath him. Content for the first time he’d been in quite some time.

Hvitserk was certainly damned, and he knew it. One night with Elen, it would never be enough. It came as a surprise when his fellow monks rose that morning to find Aethelstan’s things gone. A crude note was left, explaining he would prefer to finish his pilgrimage alone and would venture from Mercia to Wales.

What they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them, for Hvitserk didn’t journey alone. His water nymph followed him deep into the west of Wales towards the sea, never to be heard from again.


End file.
